


don we now our gay apparel

by NotSummer



Series: 2017 Life Day Prompts [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Public Humiliation, Sith Shenanigans, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSummer/pseuds/NotSummer
Summary: "She could be doing literally anything else. But. She had lost the bet, fair and square. Honor demanded she accept her loss. Thankfully, honor did not demand she be kriffing happy about it."Ilia loses a bet and is subjected to the utter public humiliation of wearing a cute dress and going to the mall and asking Santa for a pony as a result. It doesn't go as planned.





	don we now our gay apparel

“I’m not going to see Santa, Miy. I am a grown ass adult-.”

“-a grown up adult who lost a bet,” Miyala answered. “You going to bring your list?” The rising star of the diplomatic corps sagely inclined her head as she asked her friend.

Ilia glared at her. Ilia knew why Miyala was so fucking calm. Ilia knew why she wore the mien of innocence. The woman was the Dark Side incarnate, with this stupid fucking bet and this stupid fucking punishment and this stupid fucking list she had handed Ilia. But looking at her, with her neatly pressed clothes and her gentle smile and not even a hint of the mischief that was boiling underneath her skin? No one was going to accuse her. She could walk among angels and not get called out.

“Get your damn keys,” Ilia hissed.

Miyala raised her hand to show she already had them, gliding to the doorway, before pausing. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Her mouth twitched, and Ilia groaned, fishing out the pair of santa hats from her purse, angrily putting one on each montral before stomping out the door.

The tranquility on Miyala’s face made Ilia wonder if she really had been going to that Jedi temple she had mentioned, but Ilia put it out of her mind as she scowled at the neighbor boy who was pointing and laughing at her candy cane dress. The black fabric was decorated with hordes of cheery little candies, and Miyala had wrangled her into a bright red belt around her waist and strappy little red sandals.

In a better mood, it admittedly might have been a cute outfit. Alas, she was not in a better mood. “Get lost, kid,” Ilia snapped.

Miyala broke her serene mien to glare at her, and Ilia glared defiantly back. Kid earned it. Miyala shook her head, and started the car. Ilia spent the car ride in sullen silence as Miyala turned on the Life Day music and bean singing cheerily along.

She was doing this on purpose. Ilia sunk lower in her seat, because her friend was a clever woman, and deliberately choosing things that Ilia couldn’t snap at her about and yet were super irritating. Miyala had gone into politics for a reason, Ilia reflected irritatedly.

Although there was one person that could trip her up: her boyfriend. Ilia had seen her friend full on stutter in nerves the first time they met. Ilia hummed in a happier mood as she recalled all the times Jesse had managed to crash through her friend’s elegance and prove how awkward she could be. God, they were so in love. Disgusting.

Miyala parked, and smiled cheerfully at Ilia. “Force, I love the Christmas season. Don’t you? So full of well wishes and good tidings. And the spirit of giving! Truly, a lovely time of the year.”

Ilia hunched her head, her scowl returning. She slouched out of the car and stalked towards the mall entrance. She could be doing literally anything else. But. She had lost the bet, fair and square. Honor demanded she accept her loss. Thankfully, honor did not demand she be kriffing happy about it.

Miyala’s gliding gait swept her past Ilia, who heaved a sigh and trudged faster to keep up with her friend. The Santa was in the middle of the mall (of shabla course). Ilia stalked up to the line, which was filled with small children and their parents.

Right.

This wasn’t humiliating at all.

She crossed her arms as Miyala stood and tapped away at her phone, occasionally sighing. Miyala’s fingers slowed and stopped. “You’re acting the same age as these children,” she said mildly.

“I lost the bet, sure,” Ilia snapped, “But this is beyond humiliating.”

Miyala raised a brow at her. “And what would you have done if I lost the bet?”

Ilia thought about it.

Ilia blanched.

Ilia remembered Miyala was, in fact, far more merciful than her.

“That’s what I thought,” Miyala said.

Making a conscious effort to improve her mood in light her newly adjusted view of Miyala’s mercy, Ilia looked around. One of the “elves” smirked at her, and Ilia narrowed her eyes slightly as she recognized the tattoos under the floppy hat. “Is that Jesse,” she asked, amusedly nudging Miyala.

Miyala grinned. “Of course. And later we’re going to walk into Viktorya’s Mystique and get something.”

Craning her neck, Ilia spotted the lingerie store, entrance clearly visible from where Jesse was stationed. “I changed my mind,” Ilia said. “You’re even more evil than I am.”

A sly smile crept over her face, but she said nothing else, only sliding a few feet forward as a little chagrian boy hopped off Santa’s lap and ran back to his mom, exclaiming about the presents he was sure to get this year. Ilia’s mouth twitched up, smiling, as she watched the boy jump around, talking about the action figures he wanted.

She looked up to see one of the women volunteering as an elf smiling slightly at her. The woman had deep red skin with sharp bone ridges and featureless red eyes, contrasted sharply by the blue curls framing her face. Ilia’s montrals darkened, turning nearly black instead of their usual purple.

Miyala moved forward, and Ilia followed, her mind blank, and tripped, falling face first onto the ground. Only one of the little Santa hats stayed on her horns. The dust and grit in the mall floor showed up all too easily on her black dress, and for half a second, Ilia wanted to cry. She tried to brush the dirt off her black dress as Miyala fished a lint roller out of her purse, determinedly taking to the grime with a zeal that had gotten her a rather terrifying reputation within the embassy where she worked.

The grit disappeared, and Ilia said hoarsely, “What the hell is in your purse?” Miyala didn’t answer, in the middle of a nonverbal conversation with her boyfriend, who was watching carefully from a few yards away, but seemed content to let the women handle their own business.

Ilia rolled her eyes lightly, brushing again at her dress, unable to look up lest the woman she had been smiling at be laughing at her or something. Staring down at the ground, two silly elf shoes entered her field of vision.

Steeling herself, Ilia looked up, wincing, at the volunteer who was holding out the missing Santa hat. “I think you dropped this.”

“I think you’re being a little generous,” Ilia answered cautiously.

“I think you have good taste,” she said archly. “My name is Shaa.”

“Ilia,” Ilia blurted out. ‘It’s nice to meet you.”

Shaa smiled at her, and Ilia grinned weakly. “It’s lovely to meet you,” Shaa said, “But I have to get back to my post. I’m free in an hour though?”

“Sure,” Ilia said. “I’m Ilia, and uh. I said that already.” Great. At this rate, her montrals were never going to return to their normal color. She stared down at the ground, willing it to open her up.

Miyala nudged her. “C’mon. Your turn is next.” Ilia threw her a dry look, but stepped up to the gate. Jesse threw her a smug grin, and she snapped, “Don’t look so smug. I’m not wearing vomit green tights.”

Miyala stepped on her foot. Ilia glared, but didn’t say anything. She probably deserved it. As ‘Santa’ called for the next person, Ilia put a fake smile on her face, snatched the list from Miyala that she was supposed to read, and stomped up. She smoothed her dress down, and sat down, narrowing her eyes as she recognized the man playing Santa. “Waxer,” she whisper-hissed. Craning her neck around, she spotted an extremely grumpy elf who was pretending he wasn’t giving handfuls of candy to a small twi’lek girl sitting on his foot.

She waved at Boil, who blatantly ignored her, and turned back to Waxer, who gleefully asked what she would like for Christmas. A noise like a dying narwhal interrupted her, and she turned to see Jesse hastily turning away.

Ilia hunched her shoulders and looked down at the list, but her eyes fell on Shaa, and instead of reading out “a pretty pony”, she blurted, “A girlfriend.”

She clapped her hands over her mouth, snapped, “I need to go,” and walked off, sitting on a bench. She put her head in her hands, very nearly expiring from the embarrassment suffusing her every pore.

The bench creaked as someone else sat down, and Ilia looked up to see Shaa.

“I don’t think there’s anything I can say,” Ilia admitted. “I don’t know how to salvage my reputation. I’m ruined.”

“Would getting my number help?” Shaa smiled at her, and Ilia gaped.

“I… yes. That would help a lot.”

“I’m glad. I did sign up to help, after all.”

“You do seem to be more functional than me,” Ilia admitted sheepishly.

“I think you’re charming,” Shaa replied, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Well. Perhaps Ilia would consider thanking Miyala for this excursion.


End file.
